


bloody thy claws against death's door

by nebuleia



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ableism, Abuse, Ackbar im sorry i threw u under the bus for this fic, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dehumanization, F/M, Its only one line and not explicit but the implication is there, None of the dehumanization or abuse is on part of Ben to Rey or vice-versa, Or at least theres definite undertones of it, Pack Dynamics, Seriously Fucked Up Ethics, Suicide Attempt Mention, Unreliable Narrator, this is a trash fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-14 00:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebuleia/pseuds/nebuleia
Summary: "That thing decimated our forces. It tore apart the entirety of the ninth division without a second thought,” He spits, white hot fury boiling in his veins. “We've lost good men and women, some of who, I might remind you, are still babbling away like madmen because of Takodana,”He thinks of Jessika, unable to sleep, trembling at the any noise and bile rises in his throat.“And now you're going to what? Reward it for being drugged senseless and unable to murder anyone else?""Her Worship was always kind to me, aided my people and this cause to the best of her ability. I cannot, in good conscience, simply execute her offspring," Ackbar's gaze is unwavering, a thing of steel long forged in the fires of combat."And you don't think just sticking him in there with the other one isn't going to end up with blood on the walls? Or worse?""They will be sedated, Commander. Regardless, it all cannot be worse than the incessant wailing,"As if summoned, a guttural scream rips through the halls, ragged in its bestial agony.--A reality in which those granted sensitivity with the Force are valued solely for their prowess as weapons of war, otherwise reviled and feared.





	bloody thy claws against death's door

**Author's Note:**

> my long fic that i actually think is alright is being stubborn although i know exactly what i would like to write for it and this idea wouldn't leave me alone so here it is, in all its clunky transhy awfulness lmao, and yeah im not even going to think on how differently canon would have played out in this verse considering it essentially means the jedi order could not have existed or would have been abolished and its members persecuted if it had.

Rumour is that it takes several failed attempts, the efforts of an entire elite battalion and a truly wasteful amount of anaesthetic to subdue the beast. Yet even then, barely conscious, crusted in drying blood and stinking of fear, it still managed to suffocate Corporal Garok into unconsciousness before the Force suppression collar had been successfully secured. The shrieking thereafter, panicked and furious had apparently been beyond grating, the relentless howling utterly exhausting in addition to the effort of having to haul the thrashing bulk of the creature back to the local Resistance base.

All in all, its one more expenditure of resources and manpower that the Resistance simply cannot afford anymore, especially when fleeing the First Order's insurmountable military might.

Poe catches a glimpse of the battalion at the entrance of the north eastern tunnels and thinks in a moment of nudging the barrel of his blaster right between the beast's eyes and pulling the trigger, consequences be damned. 

The urge doesn't fade at the sight of the creature, shackled as is fitting, but it is replaced with a surprising twist of icy shock in his gut. The beast, broad and mighty as it is, has to be forcefully dragged into the entrance of the Resistance Base. Even with the threat of blasters at its back, it lies slumped across the forest floor, curled in upon itself like a babe, unruly tresses of dark, oily hair barely obscuring a face glossy with tears. 

"He's not tired," Corporal Daxton offers upon seeing Poe's confusion, tugging insistently at the chain manacled to the suppression collar, "We've barely walked a day. Don't know he's picked now of all times to start sulking," 

Eventually, the squadron has to resort to sedation yet again to which the beast, oddly enough, voices no protest; simply closes its eyes with what might be mistaken for relief, broad frame trembling. 

The image of that creature burns within his mind's eye for weeks after; a once mighty force of destruction, now bloodied and bent to the will of its victims. The righteous satisfaction of it all burns within his veins and it is easy enough to brush away any lingering prickle of discomfort. 

The entire incident has the base abuzz with gossip, a welcome if gruesome shift from the hopeless grief lingering upon every mind at the passing of General Organa not three weeks past. Poe catches snippets of these conversations in between the working with BB-8 on teaching some of their newer pilots. The general consensus appears to be that the monster will be executed in due time, if not publicly; there was little wish to commit to the gruelling effort of Conforming his strength considering the sheer magnitude of grief his destruction had wrought in countless battles past. 

He understood, agreed even somewhat. He'd witnessed the ruin of Takodana, stood on the scorched earth, passed by the singed shells of X-Wings, stood before the countless pyres for those lost to the maw of a vicious, seemingly unending conflict.

For some, they hadn't even been able to locate enough to burn, swallowed beneath the iron embrace of crumpled ships or swept away into the mouth of fast flowing rivers where they would eventually sink into the vast inky depths of Takodana's oceans. 

He'd spoken to the injured, heard the tales, seen with his own eyes the shattered bones, chipped teeth and bloodied faces. Tasted upon the wind ashes of a battle which might as well been lost for all it had cost.

The sight of the bloody aftermath had been enough for Poe, but he couldn't ignore the trembling hands clutching at his own, he just couldn't, not even when he wished he could simply turn and run, never look back. They'd whispered in broken, terrified voices of a beast striking without mercy, ripping through their ranks with no higher intent but to cleave a bloody path through the battle to a destination only it knew.

Those caught in the fray of that destruction? Few lived to the tell of it, claimed by enemy fire or the uncontrolled application of the Force, strangled to unconsciousness, thrown into the surrounding forests with such force their bones shattered upon impact. He'd visited friends who'd still been left alive after that, attempted to coax out some semblance of self from crumbling ruins of their minds, to understand something beyond the gibbering terror and agony. Too many had sunk into the sweet embrace of that death, and Poe knows, sickened, that he will lose those still clinging on to a measure of sanity to a softer, slower end.

It would be justice to have the beast put down for Takodana alone, insurance that he could never again endanger the lives of those fighting to save the galaxy from tyranny. And _yet_ , Poe cannot quite forget the quiet agony twisting at the beast's features, almost human in its grief.

It's not enough to summon sympathy, never could be enough after having pulled Jessika from the smoking wreckage of Takodana's battlefield, trying to calm her incoherent shrieking, pull her hands from her head and away from the bloody cuts she had gouged into the skin. 

But it is _something_ , enough that he calls in a favour with the base's resident Force Sensitives Behavioural Analyst and one of three resident defectors from the ranks of the First Order: Diana Mauz. 

She's always been a wily piece of work, would have to be Poe supposes, in order to have survived in a place like the First Order, and it takes nearly a week to finally pin her down. it could've been worse considering she had few allies and fewer friends still that he could pry her location from. 

He finally corners her in the line for cheap caf, looking a shade worse for wear. The height, thank the Maker, is a dead giveaway, Diana towering almost a head taller than the crowd beneath her even while slouched. The tattered, slightly singed remains of what was Poe guesses is a lab coat hang limp upon her frame and he spots the signature, fractured spectacles perched upon a crooked nose, an oddity in this age considering the progression of medical technology. All in all, once he manages to pin down her location, she's a painfully obvious spectacle.

It's easy enough to sidle up to her and Poe hopes beyond hope she'll be quiet long enough for him to avoid the terse lectures on the murder of stormtroopers.

The irritated grimace she gives him promises no such respite and as she opens her mouth, he quickly cuts in. 

"I need that favour you owe me," 

Her scowl deepens and she appears either ignorant of or pointedly dismissive of the openly curious glances their conversation is already garnering.

"Why?" The suspicion colouring her tone is clear, lip curling. 

"Doesn't matter. I just need it," Poe _really_ doesn't need the outright leering from the crowd. Of course he's going to be the next highlight in the run of the mill gossip. Just wonderful, exactly what he needs.

Diana steps up to the head of the queue and eyes him, expression placid as she takes the offered beverage, inclining a nod of thanks to the service droid before sipping languidly at her caf, cool gaze fixed upon his. The crowd is unashamedly listening in now, its almost painfully obvious. How does the Resistance even _have_ a covert operations team? 

The smile she offers him is frosted, pointed in its utter disdain. 

"Later," The dismissal is clear as is the the pleasure she takes in sauntering off into the crowd, knowing he won't make a scene of following her.  

It takes nearly another week to annoy her into even hearing him out; as soon as she catches hide or hair him, Diana makes a show of leaving the room as quickly as possible. Poe can literally feel his temper fraying in addition to ever present anxiety over that Force Sensitive. He doesn't understand the writhing discomfort, but doesn't care to. 

Eventually, with enough insistent pestering, she concedes to his demands with a sullen look. The giant of a woman then ushers him quickly down the sterile halls of Sector A5 without another word towards the hole in the wall she has been assigned for research. He knows that the beast lies within her care, and before they put a blaster to its head, he wants to soothe the frustrating anxiety that has been eating him inside out for the past couple weeks about the entire predicament.

Diana's office lies adjacent to the cell, a mere mouse hole of a room tucked away beneath an outcropping of stone, dishearteningly disordered and in possession of a ceiling far too low for its occupant's considerable height. The mahogany desk is littered with pages of notes, Diana's large, elegant scrawl visible across every single page. It's weird, considering she has access to the issued datapads, but he can't exactly begrudge her harmless quirks. 

Poe watches as she ducks into the office (it doesn't even have a door, Maker, what have they come to), returning with a single weathered datapad buried beneath the mountain of handwritten notes, and what appears to be a rather old apple. 

"This crap tastes like cardboard," she grunts through a disgruntled mouthful, eyes sharp. "They offer you hotshots actual food once you blast enough brainwashed child soldiers into smithereens?" 

Poe breathes deep, pushes down the indignant anger and bites back a relapse into the well worn arguments they have spat at one another over the the last six months. He just needs five minutes, just one more good look at the animal, enough to unfurl the twisting of his gut, and then he'll be out of her irritable, self righteous hair, thank the powers that be. 

Ignoring the barb, he turns to face the reinforced durasteel glass adjacent to Diana's office, the beast's shape barely visible in the poor light. With a grunt, Diana thumbs at her datapad, and the concrete cell is suddenly illuminated.

"Anything I owe you? Payed from here on out," Another crunch, irritatingly loud. "More than twice over, really, for how much trouble this could land me in with the higher-ups," 

Poe ignores her, stares instead at the beast, waits for the knot in his throat to loosen. 

The creature lies slumped across the floor, ankles and wrists manacled to the stone, nude but for the issued briefs at its hips and the iron bulk of the Force Suppression collar clasped around its throat. The great expanse of its back is puckered with scars and half-healed injuries, which Poe supposes are from Takodana.

A sudden, dull ache in his teeth forces Poe to make a concentrated effort at easing the tension. 

Good, someone got to land a blow on it after everything the Resistance had lost. The satisfaction, thick, hot and heady, doesn't fade from his veins.

And yet, watching as confusion melts from the beast's irregular features, twists into a peculiar expression that appears something like grief, dark eyes glossy with unshed tears, his satisfaction sours. 

The beast stares at Poe for a moment, twitches in his restraints. Diana inhales sharply beside Poe, thumb resting warily upon her datapad. They wait, a touch anxious to see if the beast will have to be sedated once again. The monter stares a moment longer, expression twisting into something savage, snarling as best it might through the gag straining harshly at its mouth. Poe rests a hand upon his blaster instinctively, wonders distantly at the the strength of duraglass. 

The creature snarls a moment longer, raising itself up from the stone as best it might in restraints, bestial in its rage before its expression inexplicably crumples and it slumps into the coolness of the stone below once again, keening pitifully.

Its hands, tanned and reasonably large, twitch within the restraints, as though it wished to clench them. 

The knot within Poe's throat doesn't loosen, the memory of those dark, haunted eyes burned within his mind.

"Why the gag?" He chokes out, feeling suddenly and inexplicably nauseous. 

Its common knowledge that upon achieving such high sensitivity to the Force, these creatures were reduced to but a fraction of the intelligence of their ordinary counterparts, unable to communicate beyond the capabilities of a beast, driven by instinct and instinct alone. 

Diana shudders, trembling as she gazes fixedly upon the datapad. She swallows before answering, hoarse. 

"He kept trying to bite his tongue. Bite clean through the flesh, if you catch my meaning,"

The nausea roiling within Poe's gut deepens and he swallows back the bile rising in his throat. 

The silence hangs heavy upon the air, broken only by the soft, muffled keening from the creature before them.

 "Look, this is going to sound crazy, maybe it _is_ crazy, but I think it's displaying signs of guilt," Diana fidgets, apple forgotten as she strides towards the duraglass, expression inscrutable. 

Poe's stomach sinks. Diana's has always been something of an oddball what with the bizarre fixation on Force Sensitives, but evidently she had been holed away in the lab with only the company of her subjects for far too long if she was already going a bit stir crazy.

"Diana - "

"No, not 'Diana'," Her placid expression ripples, twisting with a peculiar anxiety as she turns to face him, "Listen to me, Poe, his recent wounds aren't indicative of an escape attempt,"

She holds up her datapad, a displaying the unmarked skin of the beast's hands and wrists as bound by their chains. 

"No chafing at the manacles around his ankles and wrists, you see?" She's pleading now, a hand upon his bicep as her explanation bubbles forth, verging upon desperate, as if it could no longer be kept at bay, "And he keeps trying to claw at his skin, makes a right mess about it too,"

Poe swallows, knows exactly what this behaviour would be indicative of, barring a couple different customs from other species. As an instructor, knows the signs one must look for, at least from a human. 

 Diana barely pauses for breath before rushing onward, spectacles slipping further down the bridge of her nose as she gestures wildly.

"Do you know what this means for Force Sensitive research? If they really do exhibit signs of remorse, we might someday have a chance at domesticating their violent tenancies and significantly reducing the threat they pose both to themselves and to others," 

Poe swallows, resisting the urge to fidget under her intense gaze. 

"You mean," He tugs his arm out of her grasp, needs to step away from this for just a moment before the bile rising in his throat threatens to spill out. "You mean that they're regaining what? Intelligence?"

Diana is visibly trembling, a disturbing sight in itself for someone ordinarily so composed. 

"That's the thing," She whispers hoarsely, running a shaking hand through her birds nest of blonde hair, lip white with the force she is biting it. "This is going to sound insane but I'm not certain they ever lost it, at least to the degree we've always thought," 

 

* * *

 

 Very little had been written on the possible pack dynamics between Force Sensitives beyond baseless speculation. Their current utilisation simply didn't demand such knowledge, especially considering how volatile the creatures often proved alone on the battlefield despite a successful Conformation. Thus, the need to funnel Resistance funds to such a line of research never really presented itself.

It's for this reason that Commander Poe Dameron, several days after the entire mess with the beast, stomach no less turned that it had been upon first seeing the creature, is utterly shocked to hear that Admiral Ackbar would not in fact, be scheduling the beast's execution. Instead, the plan is to house the monster with the other resident Force Sensitive. 

The nausea has not faded in the days past, he still dreams of that tortured expression, but to simply allow the beast no punishment whatsoever? The grief of Takodana burns far brighter in his chest than sympathy for an animal responsible for so much death and destruction. 

"That thing decimated our forces. It tore apart the entirety of the ninth division without a second thought,” He spits, white hot fury boiling in his veins. “We've lost good men and women, some of who, I might remind you, are still babbling away like madmen because of Takodana,”

He thinks of Jessika, unable to sleep, trembling at the any noise and bile rises in his throat.

“And now you're going to what? Reward it for being drugged senseless and unable to murder anyone else?"

"Her Worship was always kind to me, aided my people and this cause to the best of her ability. I cannot, in good conscience, simply execute her offspring," Ackbar's gaze is unwavering, a thing of steel long forged in the fires of combat.

"And you don't think just sticking him in there with the other one isn't going to end up with blood on the walls? Or worse?"

"They will be sedated, Commander. Regardless, it all cannot be worse than the incessant wailing,"

As if summoned, a guttural scream rips through the halls, ragged in its bestial agony.

The female hasn't shut up since they first caught her a couple months ago, wailing like a loth cat in heat at every opportunity. She's the reason Lieutenant Janus is missing a chunk of his left ear, why they have a now useless hoard of broken Force Suppression Collars, why duraglass had to be omitted from the design of her cell after the third day of captivity. 

There's hope yet that her considerable strength may still be Conformed but it appears less and less likely the longer she resists being handled in the slightest. 

Poe _really_ doesn't want to be cleaning up the mess that is certain to result from putting her and the monster (Leia Organa's offspring as well, it's terribly odd, she never spoke of having a defect child) in one cell together but Ackbar's word is law. 

He catches sight of Diana hovering at the fringe of the beast's guarded escort, looking oddly anxious about the whole affair. He supposes it has something to do with their conversation but refuses to linger on the thought, on her insane notion that perhaps, there was some measure of emotional intelligence to the animal.

It slaughtered the ranks of the Resistance - would've murdered more innocents without another thought, Poe reminds himself firmly but it doesn't ease the now ever present nausea. 

He follows the guard out of some misplaced sense of morbid curiosity, but resolves himself to leave if things take a turn for the worse, and bloody. 

The halls within this sector are poorly lit, probably an attempt to keep the female as calm as possible. Her howling truly is rather terrifying, guttural and low. 

As they near her cell, it is as if she senses them and instantly begins wailing anew. How her throat cannot be raw with the constant effort of such theatrics, Poe doesn't know. 

He chances a glance at the beast who, to his utter shock, suddenly stands straighter in his restraints, expression one of utter shock. It lunges woozily then for the cell, snarling as he is bodily pulled back, threatened with a powerful blow from the guards' tasers. It doesn't appear to phase the creature in the slightest nor deter him from pressing up against the entrance to the cell, wheezing as the iron collar upon his throat tightened in warning. 

"Open it," The captain of the guard barks, trying to corral the beast away from the entrance to no success. 

The cell opens with a hiss and the beast slumps in his restraints, sinking to the stone floor before straining desperately towards the female within, wheezing as the strain of his strength against the immovable Force Suppression collar threatens to suffocate. The female once she catches sight of him through the reinforced bars, to Poe's utter shock, wails before crawling drunkenly towards them, evidently still very drowsy from the recent sedation. 

Poe doesn't recognise this creature, sees not a trace of the bloodstained monster who had shattered minds into gibbering madness without restraint, who had slaughtered both Rebel and First Order troops without mercy. He doesn't see the wailing terror, teeth stained crimson with Resistance blood in the eyes of the female.

The guards release the restraints and the beast slams heavily into the stone before crawling towards his companion, whimpering. The female reaches him first, sniffling through her tears as she presses her face to his temple, tangling her fingers within the matted dark tresses.

The monster keens brokenly as the female crawls into his lap, reaching down to tuck her bare feet off the cold of the stone floor and into the cradle of his thighs. His sheer bulk obscures her tanned near nudity; the swell of her breasts and slight curve of her hips covered only by issued undergarments. 

The pair appear to almost curl around the other protectively, entwined. 

They're both openly sobbing, trembling violently within each other's embrace and the sight curdles cold and heavy within Poe's gut. Its disturbingly  _human:_  the desperate kisses the male presses to every inch of his companion he might reach and she to him, the gentle rumble from the female as the the monster tucks his head under her chin and rubs his face against the visible skin of her throat, cradling her as if they might simply meld to one flesh through sheer will alone.

They have all but forgotten Poe and the fearful discomfort he cannot quite source, lost to moaning in agony upon the discovery of wounds, the female shifting to gently press her forehead to her companion, stroking with calloused hands at his tear stained cheeks as he kisses the corner of her mouth. 

There's an unquestionable intimacy between them that Poe doesn't think possible to understand, something primal and knowing, yet achingly familiar.

The creature makes an attempt to pry at her collar, expression wild but she stills him with but a glance, leaning forward once again to wind her arms behind his neck, above the iron clasp to rub the softness of her cheek against the slight bristle of his jaw. The beast whimpers and Poe stares incredulously. This was the creature responsible for the several of the Resistance's most skilled troops left sprawled upon the forest floor, minds shattered beyond repair, countless other caught in the whirlwind of his fearsome destruction as he wrought havoc upon whatever battle he was unlucky enough to stumble upon.

And yet, in the arms of his own kind, the monster is as docile as a newborn kit. 

He doesn't want to be here a moment longer, nausea and fear coiling in his gut. They evidently have no wish to harm one another, thus there is no cause for further concern. Leia Organa's memory can rest peacefully in the knowledge that the last remnant of her blood, though defect, will not face his grave this evening.

He turns to leave, noticing the guards have already abandoned the cell after completing their assignment and almost succeeds in closing the door before a guttural moan escapes from the beast's mouth, gurgled out from a beyond a mouthful of blood. 

" _Rey_ ," 

**Author's Note:**

> me: u suck at world building its a huge weakness  
> me @ me: u right. lets write something that relies on well written world building to work. o h.....
> 
> i adore and will very likely cry over any kudos or comments you would be kind enough to share! i have a tumblr if you would like to scream at me on a different platform as well asfdhg: @luminoustunes


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